An Afternoon Soak
by lexyhamilton
Summary: Piece of Peter and Wendy fluff with microscopic amount of angst. Actually based on an anime cartoon of Peter Pan, but it's general enough to be understood wo having seen it


AN AFTERNOON SOAK  
  
"Peter!" Wendy was surprised to see the boy seated at the table in the tree house. He rarely came back in the middle of the day, and then only if he felt like taking a nap up in his tree. But here he was, sitting at the table, the expression on his face unreadable. "What are you doing here? Did something happen?" Peter looked askance before answering.  
  
"No, not much. I was just tired. Decided to come back." She noticed a piece of Indian leather tied around his right shoulder. Tiger Lily. And he claimed he was going to rile up the pirates today. But Wendy was a lady, and she had to be civil.  
  
"Well, the boys went fishing, I believe. So they're not here." Peter smiled.  
  
"It's you I wanted to see, anyway..." This would have been extremely flattering, but the leather strip belied his words. She walked over and sat in his lap, pretending to only now notice.  
  
"Why, Peter, where's this from?"  
  
"The Indian village." He could be so unsatisfying in his replies sometimes.  
  
"From Tiger Lily?"  
  
"Yes." Peter turned his torso to bring his right shoulder almost out of Wendy's view. He turned his cheek to her, rather obviously imploring for a kiss. Wendy was not ready to oblige.  
  
"You have some nerve, Peter. If you're visiting Tiger Lily, why don't you tell her to kiss you. Or is she too much of a tomboy for that?" Peter looked back at her, round-eyed.  
  
"Is that what you think?"   
  
"Well, you really need some imagination to think of anything else! And you said you were going to pay the pirates a visit today. The Indian Village is not anywhere near on the way, I believe..."  
  
"No. It's not." Peter's chest heaved up and down and his eyes betrayed uneasiness. "I did visit the pirate ship today, Wendy. And I thought I could visit any place I wanted. Or do I need your consent to tinkle too?" Wendy stood up off his lap.  
  
"You don't need my consent to do anything, Peter. Just don't come in expecting me to shower you with kisses after you've been doing God-knows-what with all your wanton girlfriends and fairies in the woods." Peter's mouth gave an involuntary twitch.  
  
"So that's how you think of me." He got up and his feet were already leaving the floor when Wendy was about to say something and touched the leather strap on his shoulder. Peter gasped, and closed his eyes. Wendy saw red blood seeping out around the edges on his shirt.  
  
"Peter! What happened?!" Peter floated back down to the seat, still wincing.  
  
"This is just to hold the compress the Chief and Lily made for me."  
  
"Compress for what?" Peter looked at Wendy and sighed.  
  
"Hook... injured me." Wendy sat back into his lap and held his face between her hands.  
  
"Badly?"  
  
"Well, not fatally, as you can see." Peter smiled sheepishly, but the pain was still visible in his features. Wendy was speechless. "He ran me through with a sword-so it hurts awfully now. And I can't move my whole right arm."  
  
"Oh Peter!" How could she have been so selfish! Here he was, a hole clean through his shoulder, sitting quietly-only wanting a token of affection to ease his suffering. She began kissing him all over, hardly worried about appearing cheap now. The cheek, the neck, the temple, the forehead, and finally square on the lips. Like velvet, barely touching were her lips on Peter's. She pulled away, blushing lightly for having been so forward.   
  
"That was a strange kiss..." he mumbled. But before Wendy could react, he slung his good arm around her head and pressed her face back into its former position. In Wendy's eyes this was positively vulgar, though she had fantasized about something like it on many a night before going to bed. When she suddenly felt the moisture of his mouth as he opened a little wider, she pushed herself away violently and immediately sprang up off his lap. Her heartbeat was pounding in her ears, and she rushed to the stove to avoid eye contact with Peter.  
  
"The boys will be back soon. I better prepare something to eat." She began her work, casting furtive glances from time to time at the smiling boy seated at the table. Would he approach her again? Wendy was no longer sure what she was hoping for. But Peter sat quietly now, occasionally trying to lift the hurt arm, wincing and giving up every time before he could put the elbow on the table. His face had turned gloomy.  
  
"But how could I have been so careless! I never underestimated the Captain by that much." He sighed. "And now, how will I be treated?"  
  
Wendy looked up from her task. "What do you mean?"  
  
"I've just lost my standing, is what I mean." His lip was quivering at the realization. "The Captain saw me skewered on his sword. He thought he almost had me. I only got away because I pushed myself back off using my feet on the handle. He didn't think I'd do it, but I'm less afraid of pain than of getting captured." Peter was rarely so candid with anybody. The very admission of fear was something completely new to Wendy. She went back to the table and stood behind him, gently pressing his head back into her torso.  
  
"You're still the best, Peter. You'll always be the best..." One of her hands was on Peter's neck, and she felt him swallow before interrupting her.  
  
"Girls know nothing about fighting." This sounded like the familiar, old Peter. The Peter who left her stranded in a tree after she refused to accept his gift. The Peter who couldn't bring himself to pick snow-flowers with her because it was too boring for him.  
  
"Oh?" Wendy said, trying to contain her irritation.  
  
"You just don't understand. Hook saw me injured. He saw me writhe on the end of his sword. Heck, he has my blood on that blade!" Wendy saw Peter's left hand squeeze into a tight fist-knuckles whitening at the mere recollection. "And instead of fighting him to the end, I up and flew away as soon as I got free..."  
  
"Well, it's hard to imagine you'd fight him while bleeding to death." Wendy took off Peter's hat, something she liked to do because it always slightly annoyed him, and began trying to run her fingers through his hair, which was usually a difficult task. "Maybe I should cut some of this hair off... it isn't bothering you to have it so long, sliding into your face?"  
  
"Wendy, I'll kill whoever touches my hair." Wendy giggled.  
  
"Well, I'm touching it, aren't I?"  
  
"You do so only at your own risk." Peter was trying to keep a straight face, but even without a view of it, Wendy could see the ears rising a little from the inevitable smile that he was trying to suppress.  
  
"And how would you kill me?"  
  
"I'd take you, and hug you so hard that I'd squeeze all the air from you."  
  
"Well, I suppose there are more disagreeable deaths." Wendy mused. Peter reached around with his left arm but it landed somewhat beneath the waist he was aiming for. Wendy immediately pulled away.  
  
"Peter! You know, if you had been raised in England, you would have been slapped so many times by now!"  
  
"You'd slap me?" He grinned. "Well, Wendy, what would I do if I'd been raised in England?"  
  
"You'd be polite and compliment me on everything-how I did my hair, how I cleaned the house... and you'd never touch me without asking, you impertinent boy."  
  
"Ah, Wendy... you have it all wrong." Wendy looked at him in puzzlement. "Because I'd do everything exactly the same way." Wendy cocked her head to one side, and raised one eyebrow. Peter loved when he could surprise her with a witticism.  
  
"... Just to see you slap me, of course!" Peter's grin had become contagious. Wendy took Michael's small pillow off the bed and mock-pummeled Peter with it across the face a couple of times. He was laughing, half-heartedly shielding himself with his good arm from her playful onslaught. She sat down on his lap again, this time straddling him.  
  
"I told you girls were better at fighting. See, I won!"  
  
"Wendy, I'd let you beat me any time." Wendy laughed.  
  
"Really? You'd let me pin you down?"  
  
"Yes-I'd let you win. Especially if you were going to pin me down."  
  
"Even in front of Hook?"  
  
"...Maybe. Let's not take this too far, milady." His face grew instantly gloomy at the mention of his foe. He fingered the compress bulging from underneath his shirt, and as he turned his head, Wendy noticed all the lines of definition suddenly come through on the neck. He was so perfect, without even realizing it.  
  
"And this has never happened before? Injury, I mean."  
  
Peter was silent for a moment.  
  
"Hook scraped me once with his hook across the chest. All the way to the rib bone at one point."  
  
"When did this happen?"  
  
"I have no idea. A long time ago. After the crocodile bit off his hand, of course, but before you arrived. Long before you arrived, I guess."  
  
"Do you have a scar?" Wendy touched his chest in curiosity, but could make out nothing with his double shirt covering it.  
  
"Yeah. Maybe I'll show it to you some other time."  
  
"But that only means that nothing horrible has happened. You've been doing as you've pleased all our time here, and another scratch from Hook won't change that."  
  
"No, the scratch-Hook didn't have the satisfaction of seeing my blood that day. No one even knows about it except Tink... and you now. But this one's deep. I had to make peace with the Chief just to get the proper treatment for it." Peter said, evidently unhappy to have been forced to end his feud with the Indians. "He said my arm might never heal anyway."  
  
"It will heal." Wendy said, and inadvertently touched the shoulder, making Peter grimace and suck air loudly through his clenched teeth. He was thoroughly annoyed now, and grabbed his hat to stick it back tightly over his head. Wendy retorted by unraveling the string of his ponytail. The hair tumbled out across the back of the neck.  
  
"Wendy!" If Peter was partial to his hat, his hair he considered an integral part of his very being. He seized the string back out of Wendy's hands as she tried to control her laughter, but after several failed attempts, gave up on tying it with one hand. Wendy immediately felt ashamed of her childish behavior.   
  
"Here, Peter, I'll retie it ..." But as she gathered the hair back, she noticed sticky red substance on one side. "Peter! There's dry blood in your hair! We have to wash this off." She realized that she had never seen Peter wash. He must have taken a dunk now and then in Flamingo Lake. Or perhaps-less favorably to Wendy's sensitivities-the Mermaid Lagoon. Those wanton amphibious girls would only be too happy.  
  
"I'll wash your hair, Peter. Just take off your shirt-I don't want to get it wet." Peter smiled.  
  
"I would if I could." Wendy kept forgetting about his injury. She sat down into his lap and attempted to do the honors.  
  
"How do you take this thing off, anyway?"  
  
"Just untie the strings in the front." Despite her usual skills, Wendy took a long time to unravel the knots on the inside of his suit.  
  
"I just can't bring myself to believe you do this every time you have to..." Wendy blushed. She'd been rather uncouth the entire day.  
  
"Do what?" Peter asked before thinking about it. "Oh. If I had both my hands working, I'd do it in a flash. But I suppose it would be easier if I wore a short dress like you..." He beamed a big lopsided smile that always made Wendy want to touch his face. But she didn't want to seem un-ladylike, so she only laughed politely, and began to peel Peter out of his outer garment, careful not to touch his right shoulder. Both had stood up by now to make it easier for Wendy. The jumpsuit was being stubborn, snagging on seemingly every possible joint until it suddenly fell all the way down to Peter's ankles. Wendy gasped, but was relieved to see his white shirt extended a little below his hips and kept certain things out of sight. She quickly pulled it back up, and tied it at Peter's waist. Satisfied that his pants were secure, she pulled the white shirt off, first doing the left arm and head, then gingerly pulling it down the immobile arm. She looked back at the result.   
  
Peter was standing half-naked, the jump suit precariously hanging on by the knot that came down so low it exposed protruding hip bones. Wendy was struck by how white his skin was where it had not been exposed to sunlight. She was transfixed-never had she seen her friend in so much detail. Every contraction, every tightening ligament, every breath he took was in plain view. His entire torso was so flat and firm, she mused. She could see the outline of every single rib.  
  
"...What?" Peter had grown uncomfortable with her unbroken stare, and glanced down, afraid something was out of place. "Oh, the scar."  
  
Wendy noticed the angry jagged white line running diagonally across Peter's ribcage only after he mentioned it. She walked over and ran her fingers along it.  
  
"This happened a long time ago," She concluded. "It looks well-healed."  
  
"Yes, I told you, didn't I?" Peter was getting a little uneasy, as Wendy's hands left the itinerary of the scar. She traced his collarbones, then moved down to the last rib, and finally all the way to the hipbones, her symmetrical caresses making Peter quiver with unfamiliar excitement. He suddenly felt cold, vulnerable, and incomplete. Peter wrapped his left arm around Wendy's waist and ardently pressed her warm, soft body into his. She reached around and followed the spinal line up until she reached the back of his neck, then brought them down and clasped her hands around the ribcage that was changing size more often now. They stood locked in this embrace until both began to feel a little silly and came apart. Wendy was still in a daze, but quickly remembered why she took the shirt off in the first place.  
  
"Peter! Get over here, I have to wash your hair!" The boy grimaced but walked out onto the veranda where the water barrel stood. Wendy took off his hat. He looked strange with his hair let loose like this-a veritable savage.  
  
"Here, so the compress doesn't fall off..." Wendy took off her pink sash and tied it around the leaves the Indian chief had placed on the shoulder.   
  
"But, Wendy, it'll get..." Peter winced as she tightened it. "... It'll get dirty. You saw how much I've been bleeding."  
  
"As long as it's your blood, I don't care." Wendy said, and immediately blushed. "Oh, I forgot the soap! Dunk your head in, we need to get the hair wet first anyway." She came back shortly, but, to her dismay, Peter's hair was still completely dry.  
  
"It's too cold!"  
  
"Stop whining, even little Michael bears it." She tried to push his head in, but Peter was not one to be forced into anything. In the slight tussle, Wendy touched his right shoulder. Peter catapulted up and sat down on a high tree branch, caressing his hurt limb.  
  
"Peter Pan! Come back down!" The boy shook his head. He apparently needed an incentive. "Peter, come down, and I'll let you kiss me on the lips." This was absolute immodesty, but Wendy justified it to herself as a means of getting her charge to wash up. Peter grinned.  
  
"Nah, it's not worth it." It was the first time Wendy had been spurned so explicitly, and she briefly stood flabbergasted as the tears welled up. She rushed back into the tree house, and slammed the flimsy bamboo doors shut behind her. She stood turned away from the entrance, cursing herself for letting Peter hurt her so terribly with that invitation. It wasn't long before Peter cautiously opened the doors, and drifted in. Wendy was turned away, but the creak had betrayed his presence in the room.  
  
"Wendy...? Don't be mad..." He floated around in order to face her, but she turned away. "Wendy, you know I didn't mean it." He suddenly turned her back around with his good arm and began kissing her on the lips. She tried to push him away, but he was strong and insistent, thinking this would repair their relationship. But Wendy had no desire to be with him anymore. As a last resort, she pushed on the right shoulder, and Peter immediately let go. They stood a few feet apart-Peter's expression was one of extreme upset, but not enough for Wendy to forget her anger. Rejection was rare and particularly painful to the boy. After a long awkward silence, Peter flew out of the room again. Wendy sighed. The boy could never swallow his pride, it seemed. He might be gone for days now, knowing his occasional moodiness. She walked over back to the stove to prepare food when she saw Peter reappear in the doorway, his long hair completely wet, dripping down all over him and the wooden floor.  
  
"... What should I do next?" Joy filled Wendy's heart, but she was careful not to show how it overwhelmed her. She came out with the soap again.  
  
"Lean over the barrel! You're dripping all over your clothes, silly." She began rubbing soap into the disheveled mess and would tell him to dunk his head now and then. The water was turning very sudsy.  
  
"Wendy, I don't mean to complain, but the soap stings my eyes..." His feet lifted off the ground, and he turned himself over to face the sky. With his body in this supernatural limbo, only the hair was submerged in the water now. He really was wonderful sometimes, Wendy thought as she continued washing.  
  
"Well, I guess we're done." She said, wiping her hands on the towel. She just had time to notice the mischievous grin spread on Peter's face before he pulled her head down to make contact with his mouth. It was an upside down kiss, which in and of itself felt wrong to the traditionalist girl. Moreover, both ends of her blond pigtails were submerged in the soapy water when she leaned down thus, a thought that immediately made her dread having to dry them. She quickly pulled away.  
  
"Peter, you're incorrigible!" Wendy had long wanted to use her mother's favorite phrase. "Take your head out so I can dry your hair... But keep it over the water! Try not drip-please!" Peter floated up a bit higher, and Wendy rubbed his drenched long locks with the towel before wrapping it around his head. Peter re-alighted back to the floor. He looked quite ridiculous with the new headdress but his expression was melancholic.  
  
"You don't love me, Wendy." He finally said, his face as dark as it ever got.  
  
"What?"  
  
"You never want to kiss me. You always pull away. And I think I know why..." Wendy was perplexed, and wanted to hear his proposed reason herself.  
  
"You don't respect me anymore. I lost to Hook. I guess it's only fair..." Peter was looking at the ground.  
  
"Peter, what are you talking about?"  
  
"I know, I know. Now that I'm practically a cripple you'll never look at me in the same way." He was wallowing in puerile self-pity again.  
  
"That's ridiculous!"  
  
"It's true-how can I expect you to respect me if Hook almost cut off my arm..."  
  
"Peter, it has nothing to do with your bloody arm!" Wendy clapped her hands over her mouth immediately after she said it. To her relief, Peter failed to understand the vulgar aspect of her annoyed retort, and merely looked to see if more blood was seeping through the bandage. She walked over to him and caressed his face. He was just a bit taller than her, she realized. "Peter, I love you. Really-I do. That's why I don't want you endangering yourself all the time. Just stop visiting the pirate ship, please? For my sake?"  
  
Peter turned away in disgust from her. "You see? You don't even believe I can take care of myself anymore. You won't let me do my assigned purpose!"  
  
"Assigned purpose?" There was only so much Wendy was willing to take. "That's a new one. Tell me, why is it your 'assigned purpose' to provoke Hook until he injures you... or worse?" Peter was staring off into space behind Wendy's head.  
  
"Because that's what I do. Hook tries to kill me, and I remind him if he forgets or dawdles. It's what I live for."  
  
"Then it's you who doesn't love me. Because I live for you, not some stupid never-ending cat-and-mouse game!" She turned away, folding her arms. It was he who was supposed to be upset, not her again. Peter felt positively robbed.  
  
"I live for you too. But boys have to do other things as well. I have to think of... protecting you, for instance... and maintaining my reputation..." Wendy let out a forced snicker.  
  
"And I don't have to live for anything else besides you, Peter? Is that it?" Peter had never really given the issue much thought. The pain in his shoulder was not really letting up, and its overbearing presence was wearying him by now. He was hungry too, but Wendy had prepared nothing to eat. First she took away his opportunity to feel sorry for himself, then she forced him into an argument, and finally trapped him into losing it. There was only one remedy.  
  
Peter took off into the sky, and headed deep into Neverland's woods.  
  
"Peter! You're half-naked! And you look ridiculous with that towel on your head! Come back here! You'll catch a cold!" Wendy shouted after him, but doubted he was still in earshot by the time she finished.   
  
What a difficult, difficult boy he is sometimes, she thought to herself. 


End file.
